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A  CHRISTMAS  MYSTERY 

The  Story  of  Three  Wise  Men 


1  cannot  tell  how  the  truth  may  he: 
I  say  the  tale  as  Hwas  said  to  7/ie." 


A  CHRISTMAS  MYSTERY 


BY   THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

IDOLS 

SEPTIMUS 

THE   USURPER 

THE   WHITE   DOVE 

THE   BELOVED   VAGABOND 

THE  DEMAGOGUE  AND  LADY  PHAYRE 

THE    MORALS    OF    MARCUS    ORDEYNE 

AT  THE  GATE  OF  SAMARIA 

A  STUDY   IN   SHADOWS 

SIMON  THE  JESTER 

WHERE   LOVE  IS 

DERELICTS 


"  I  HEARD  IT.      I    FELT    IT.       It   WAS   LIKE   THE   BEATING 
OF   WINGS." 


A 

CHRISTMAS 
MYSTERY 

TEE    STORY    OF 
THREE  WISE  MEN 

BY 

WILLIAM  J.  LOCKE 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 
BLENDON    CAMPBELL 


NEW  YORK 

JOHN  LANE   COMPANY 

MCMX 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
The  Phillips  Publishing  Company 

Copyright,  1910,  by 
John  Lane  Company 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

«*I  heard  it.     I  felt  it.     It  was  like  the 

beating  of  wings "    Frontispiece     .     48 

"  I  told  you  the  place  was  uncanny  "     .     40 

Instinctively  they  all  knelt  down  .        .    53 

Carried  with  them  an  inalienable  joy 
and  possession  into  the  great 
world 54 


A  CHRISTMAS  MYSTERY 


A   CHRISTMAS   MYSTERY 


npHREE  men  who  had  gained  great 
-*-  fame  and  honour  throughout 
the  world  met  unexpectedly  in  front 
of  the  bookstall  at  Paddington  Sta- 
tion. Like  most  of  the  great  ones 
of  the  earth  they  were  personally 
acquainted,  and  they  exchanged  sur- 
prised greetings. 

Sir  Angus  McCurdie,  the  eminent 
physicist,  scowled  at  the  two  others 
beneath  his  heavy  black  eyebrows. 

"I'm  going  to  a  God-forsaken 
place  in  Cornwall  called  Trehenna," 
said  he. 

"That's  odd;  so  am  I,"  croaked 
Professor  Biggleswade.  He  was  a 
[13] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

little,  untidy  man  with  round  spec- 
tacles, a  fringe  of  greyish  beard  and 
a  weak,  rasping  voice,  and  he  knew 
more  of  Assyriology  than  any  man, 
living  or  dead.  A  flippant  pupil 
once  remarked  that  the  Professor's 
face  was  furnished  with  a  Babylonic 
cuneiform  in  lieu  of  features. 

"People  called  Deverill,  at  Foul- 
lis  Castle?"  asked  Sir  Angus. 

"Yes,"  replied  Professor  Biggles- 
wade. 

"How  curious!  I  am  going  to 
the  Deverills,  too,"  said  the  third 
man. 

This  man  was  the  Right  Honour- 
able Viscount  Doyne,  the  renowned 
Empire  Builder  and  Administrator, 
around  whose  solitary  and  remote 
life  popular  imagination  had  woven 
many  legends.  He  looked  at  the 
world  through  tired  grey  eyes,  and  the 
heavy,  drooping,  blonde  moustache 
[14] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

seemed  tired,  too,  and  had  dragged 
down  the  tired  face  into  deep  furrows. 
He  was  smoking  a  long  black  cigar. 

"I  suppose  we  may  as  well  travel 
down  together,"  said  Sir  Angus,  not 
very  cordially. 

Lord  Doyne  said  courteously:  *'I 
have  a  reserved  carriage.  The  rail- 
way company  is  always  good  enough 
to  place  one  at  my  disposal.  It 
would  give  me  great  pleasure  if  you 
would  share  it." 

The  invitation  was  accepted,  and 
the  three  men  crossed  the  busy, 
crowded  platform  to  take  their  seats 
in  the  great  express  train.  A  porter, 
laden  with  an  incredible  load  of  para- 
phernalia, trying  to  make  his  way 
through  the  press,  happened  to  jostle 
Sir  Angus  McCurdie.  He  rubbed 
his  shoulder  fretfully. 

"Why  the  whole  land  should  be 
turned  into  a  bear  garden  on  account 

[15] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

of  this  exploded  superstition  of 
Christmas  is  one  of  the  anomalies 
of  modern  civilization.  Look  at  this 
insensate  welter  of  fools  travelling 
in  wild  herds  to  disgusting  places 
merely  because  it's  Christmas!" 

"You  seem  to  be  travelling  your- 
self, McCurdie,"  said  Lord  Doyne. 

"Yes — and  why  the  devil  I'm 
doing  it,  I've  not  the  faintest  no- 
tion," replied  Sir  Angus. 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  beast  of  a  jour- 
ney," he  remarked  some  moments 
later,  as  the  train  carried  them  slowly 
out  of  the  station.  "The  whole 
country  is  under  snow  —  and  as  far 
as  I  can  understand  we  have  to 
change  twice  and  wind  up  with  a 
twenty-mile  motor  drive." 

He  was  an  iron-faced,  beetle- 
browed,  stern  man,  and  this  morn- 
ing he  did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  best 
of  tempers.  Finding  his  companions 
[16] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

inclined  to  be  sympathetic,  he  con- 
tinued his  lamentation. 

"And  merely  because  it's  Christ- 
mas I've  had  to  shut  up  my  labo- 
ratory and  give  my  young  fools  a 
holiday  —  just  when  I  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  most  important  series  of 
experiments." 

Professor  Biggleswade,  who  had 
heard  vaguely  of  and  rather  looked 
down  upon  such  new-fangled  toys 
as  radium  and  thorium  and  helium 
and  argon  —  for  the  latest  astonish- 
ing developments  in  the  theory  of 
radio-activity  had  brought  Sir  Angus 
McCurdie  his  world-wide  fame  — 
said  somewhat  ironically: 

"If  the  experiments  were  so  impor- 
tant, why  didn't  you  lock  yourself 
up  with  your  test  tubes  and  electric 
batteries  and  finish  them  alone?" 

"Man!"  said  McCurdie,  bending 
across    the    carriage,    and    speaking 
[17] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

with  a  curious  intensity  of  voice, 
"d'ye  know  I'd  give  a  hundred 
pounds  to  be  able  to  answer  that 
question?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the 
Professor,  startled. 

"I  should  like  to  know  why  I'm 
sitting  in  this  damned  train  and  going 
to  visit  a  couple  of  addle-headed 
society  people  whom  I'm  scarcely 
acquainted  with,  when  I  might  be 
at  home  in  my  own  good  company 
furthering  the  progress  of  science." 

"I  myself,"  said  the  Professor, 
"am  not  acquainted  with  them  at 
all." 

It  was  Sir  Angus  McCurdie's  turn 
to  look  surprised. 

"Then  why  are  you  spending 
Christmas  with  them?" 

"I  reviewed  a  ridiculous  blank- 
verse  tragedy  written  by  Deverill  on 
the  Death  of  Sennacherib.  Histori- 
[18] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

cally  it  was  puerile.  I  said  so  in  no 
measured  terms.  He  wrote  a  letter 
claiming  to  be  a  poet  and  not  an 
archaeologist.  I  replied  that  the 
day  had  passed  when  poets  could 
with  impunity  commit  the  abomi- 
nable crime  of  distorting  history.  He 
retorted  with  some  futile  argument, 
and  we  went  on  exchanging  letters, 
until  his  invitation  and  my  accep- 
tance concluded  the  correspond- 
ence." 

McCurdie,  still  bending  his  black 
brows  on  him,  asked  him  why  he  had 
not  declined.  The  Professor  screwed 
up  his  face  till  it  looked  more  like  a 
cuneiform  than  ever.  He,  too,  found 
the  question  difficult  to  answer,  but 
he  showed  a  bold  front. 

"I  felt  it  my  duty,"  said  he,  "to 
teach  that  preposterous  ignoramus 
something  worth  knowing  about  Sen- 
nacherib. Besides  I  am  a  bachelor 
[19] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

and  would  sooner  spend  Christmas, 
as  to  whose  irritating  and  meaning- 
less annoyance  I  cordially  agree  with 
you,  among  strangers  than  among 
my  married  sisters'  numerous  and 
nerve-racking  families." 

Sir  Angus  McCurdie,  the  hard, 
metallic  apostle  of  radio-activity, 
glanced  for  a  moment  out  of  the  win- 
dow at  the  grey,  frost-bitten  fields. 
Then  he  said: 

"I'm  a  widower.  My  wife  died 
many  years  ago  and,  thank  God,  we 
had  no  children.  I  generally  spend 
Christmas  alone." 

He  looked  out  of  the  window  again. 
Professor  Biggleswade  suddenly  re- 
membered the  popular  story  of  the 
great  scientist's  antecedents,  and  re- 
flected that  as  McCurdie  had  once 
run,  a  barefoot  urchin,  through  the 
Glasgow  mud,  he  was  likely  to  have 
little  kith  or  kin.  He  himself  envied 
[20] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

McCurdie.  He  was  always  praying 
to  be  delivered  from  his  sisters  and 
nephews  and  nieces,  whose  embar- 
rassing demands  no  calculated  cold- 
ness could  repress. 

"Children  are  the  root  of  all  evil,'* 
said  he.  "Happy  the  man  who  has 
his  quiver  empty." 

Sir  Angus  McCurdie  did  not  reply  at 
once;  when  he  spoke  again  it  was  with 
reference  to  their  prospective  host. 

"I  met  Deverill,"  said  he,  "at  the 
Royal  Society's  Soiree  this  year. 
One  of  my  assistants  was  demon- 
strating a  peculiar  property  of  tho- 
rium and  Deverill  seemed  interested. 
I  asked  him  to  come  to  my  laboratory 
the  next  day,  and  found  he  didn't 
know  a  damned  thing  about  any- 
thing. That's  all  the  acquaintance  I 
have  with  him." 

Lord  Doyne,  the  great  adminis- 
trator, who  had  been  wearily  turn- 
[21] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

ing  over  the  pages  of  an  illustrated 
weekly  chiefly  filled  with  flamboyant 
photographs  of  obscure  actresses, 
took  his  gold  glasses  from  his  nose 
and  the  black  cigar  from  his  lips, 
and  addressed  his  companions. 

"I've  been  considerably  interested 
in  your  conversation,"  said  he,  "and 
as  you've  been  frank,  I'll  be  frank 
too.  I  knew  Mrs.  Deverill's  mother. 
Lady  Carstairs,  very  well  years  ago, 
and  of  course  Mrs.  Deverill  when  she 
was  a  child.  Deverill  I  came  across 
once  in  Egypt  —  he  had  been  sent 
on  a  diplomatic  mission  to  Teheran. 
As  for  our  being  invited  on  such 
slight  acquaintance,  little  Mrs.  Dev- 
erill has  the  reputation  of  being  the 
only  really  successful  celebrity  hunter 
in  England.  She  inherited  the  faculty 
from  her  mother,  who  entertained  the 
whole  world.  We're  sure  to  find  arch- 
bishops, and  eminent  actors,  and 
[22] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

illustrious  divorcees  asked  to  meet 
us.  That's  one  thing.  But  why  I, 
who  loathe  country  house  parties  and 
children  and  Christmas  as  much  as 
Biggleswade,  am  going  down  there 
to-day,  I  can  no  more  explain  than 
you  can.  It's  a  devilish  odd  coinci- 
dence." 

The  three  men  looked  at  one  an- 
other. Suddenly  McCurdie  shivered 
and  drew  his  fur  coat  around  him. 

"I'll  thank  you,"  said  he,  "to 
shut  that  window." 

"It  is  shut,"  said  Doyne. 

"It's  just  uncanny,"  said  McCur- 
die, looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"What?"  asked  Doyne. 

"Nothing,  if  you  didn't  feel  it." 

"There  did  seem  to  be  a  sudden 
draught,"  said  Professor  Biggles- 
wade. "But  as  both  window  and 
door  are  shut,  it  could  only  be 
imaginary." 

[23] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

"It  wasn't  imaginary,"  muttered 
McCurdie. 

Then  he  laughed  harshly.  "My 
father  and  mother  came  from  Cro- 
marty," he  said  with  apparent  irrele- 
vance. 

"That's  the  Highlands,"  said  the 
Professor. 

"Ay,"  said  McCurdie. 

Lord  Doyne  said  nothing,  but 
tugged  at  his  moustache  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  as  the  frozen 
meadows  and  bits  of  river  and  wil- 
lows raced  past.  A  dead  silence  fell 
on  them.  McCurdie  broke  it  with 
another  laugh  and  took  a  whiskey 
flask  from  his  hand-bag. 

"Have  a  nip.?" 

"Thanks,  no,"  said  the  Professor. 
"I  have  to  keep  to  a  strict  dietary, 
and  I  only  drink  hot  milk  and  water 
—  and  of  that  sparingly.  I  have 
some  in  a  thermos  bottle." 
[24] 


A     CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

Lord  Doyne  also  declining  the 
whiskey,  McCurdie  swallowed  a 
dram  and  declared  himself  to  be 
better.  The  Professor  took  from  his 
bag  a  foreign  review  in  which  a  Ger- 
man sciolist  had  dared  to  question 
his  interpretation  of  a  Hittite  inscrip- 
tion. Over  the  man's  ineptitude  he 
fell  asleep  and  snored  loudly. 

To  escape  from  his  immediate 
neighbourhood  McCurdie  went  to 
the  other  end  of  the  seat  and  faced 
Lord  Doyne,  who  had  resumed  his 
gold  glasses  and  his  listless  contem- 
plation of  obscure  actresses.  Mc- 
Curdie lit  a  pipe,  Doyne  another 
black  cigar.  The  train  thundered 
on. 

Presently  they  all  lunched  together 
in  the  restaurant  car.  The  windows 
steamed,  but  here  and  there  through 
a  wiped  patch  of  pane  a  white  world 
was  revealed.  The  snow  was  falling. 
[25] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

As  they  passed  through  Westbury, 
McCurdie  looked  mechanically  for 
the  famous  white  horse  carved  into 
the  chalk  of  the  down ;  but  it  was  not 
visible  beneath  the  thick  covering  of 
snow. 

"It'll  be  just  like  this  all  the  way 
to  Gehenna  —  Trehenna,  I  mean," 
said  McCurdie. 

Doyne  nodded.  He  had  done  his 
life's  work  amid  all  extreme  fierce- 
nesses of  heat  and  cold,  in  burning 
droughts,  in  simoons  and  in  icy  wil- 
dernesses, and  a  ray  or  two  more  of 
the  pale  sun  or  a  flake  or  two  more 
of  the  gentle  snow  of  England  mat- 
tered to  him  but  little.  But  Biggles- 
wade rubbed  the  pane  with  his 
table-napkin  and  gazed  apprehen- 
sively at  the  prospect. 

"If  only  this  wretched  train  would 
stop,"  said  he,  "I  would  go  back 
again." 

126] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

And  he  thought  how  comfortable 
it  would  be  to  sneak  home  again  to 
his  books  and  thus  elude  not  only 
the  Deverills,  but  the  Christmas 
jollities  of  his  sisters'  families,  who 
would  think  him  miles  away.  But 
the  train  was  timed  not  to  stop  till 
Plymouth,  two  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  miles  from  London,  and  thither 
was  he  being  relentlessly  carried. 
Then  he  quarrelled  with  his  food, 
which  brought  a  certain  consolation. 


[27] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

rpHE  train  did  stop,  however,  be- 
fore  Plymouth  —  indeed,  before 
Exeter.  An  accident  on  the  hne 
had  dislocated  the  traflSc.  The  ex- 
press was  held  up  for  an  hour, 
and  when  it  was  permitted  to  pro- 
ceed, instead  of  thundering  on,  it 
went  cautiously,  subject  to  con- 
tinual stoppings.  It  arrived  at  Ply- 
mouth two  hours  late.  The  travellers 
learned  that  they  had  missed  the  con- 
nection on  which  they  had  counted 
and  that  they  could  not  reach  Tre- 
henna  till  nearly  ten  o'clock.  After 
weary  waiting  at  Plymouth  they 
took  their  seats  in  the  little,  cold 
local  train  that  was  to  carry  them 
another  stage  on  their  journey.  Hot- 
water  cans  put  in  at  Plymouth  miti- 
gated to  some  extent  the  iciness  of 
the  compartment.  But  that  only 
lasted  a  comparatively  short  time, 
[28] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

for  soon  they  were  set  down  at  a 
desolate,  shelterless  wayside  junc- 
tion, dumped  in  the  midst  of  a  hilly 
snow-covered  waste,  where  they  went 
through  another  weary  wait  for  an- 
other dismal  local  train  that  was  to 
carry  them  to  Trehenna.  And  in 
this  train  there  were  no  hot-water 
cans,  so  that  the  compartment  was 
as  cold  as  death.  McCurdie  fretted 
and  shook  his  fist  in  the  direction  of 
Trehenna. 

"And  when  we  get  there  we  have 
still  a  twenty  miles'  motor  drive  to 
Foullis  Castle.  It's  a  fool  name  and 
we're  fools  to  be  going  there." 

*'I  shall  die  of  bronchitis,"  wailed 
Professor  Biggleswade. 

"A  man  dies  when  it  is  appointed 
for  him  to  die,"  said  Lord  Doyne, 
in  his  tired  way;  and  he  went  on 
smoking  long  black  cigars. 

"It's  not  the  dying  that  worries 
[29] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

me,"  said  McCurdie.  "That's  a 
mere  mechanical  process  which  every 
organic  being  from  a  king  to  a  cauK- 
flower  has  to  pass  through.  It's  the 
being  forced  against  my  will  and  my 
reason  to  come  on  this  accursed  jour- 
ney, which  something  tells  me  will 
become  more  and  more  accursed  as 
we  go  on,  that  is  driving  me  to  dis- 
traction." 

"What  will  be,  will  be,"  said 
Doyne. 

"I  can't  see  where  the  comfort 
of  that  reflection  comes  in,"  said 
Biggleswade. 

"And  yet  you've  travelled  in  the 
East,"  said  Doyne.  "I  suppose  you 
know  the  Valley  of  the  Tigris  as  well 
as  any  man  living." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Professor.  "I  can 
say  I  dug  my  way  from  Tekrit  to 
Bagdad  and  left  not  a  stone  unex- 
amined." 

[301 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

"Perhaps,  after  all,"  Doyne  re- 
marked, "that's  not  quite  the  way  to 
know  the  East." 

"I  never  wanted  to  know  the 
modern  East,"  returned  the  Pro- 
fessor. "What  is  there  in  it  of  in- 
terest compared  with  the  mighty 
civilizations  that  have  gone  before.'^" 

McCurdie  took  a  pull  from  his 
flask. 

"I'm  glad  I  thought  of  having  a 
refill  at  Plymouth,"  said  he. 

At  last,  after  many  stops  at  little 
lonely  stations  they  arrived  at  Tre- 
henna.  The  guard  opened  the  door 
and  they  stepped  out  on  to  the  snow- 
covered  platform.  An  oil  lamp  hung 
from  the  tiny  pent-house  roof  that, 
structurally,  was  Trehenna  Station. 
They  looked  around  at  the  silent 
gloom  of  white  undulating  moorland, 
and  it  seemed  a  place  where  no  man 
lived  and  only  ghosts  could  have  a 
[31] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

bleak  and  unsheltered  being.  A  por- 
ter came  up  and  helped  the  guard 
with  the  luggage.  Then  they  realized 
that  the  station  was  built  on  a  small 
embankment,  for,  looking  over  the 
railing,  they  saw  below  the  two  great 
lamps  of  a  motor  car.  A  fur-clad 
chauffeur  met  them  at  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs.  He  clapped  his  hands  to- 
gether and  informed  them  cheerily 
that  he  had  been  waiting  for  four 
hours.  It  was  the  bitterest  winter 
in  these  parts  within  the  memory  of 
man,  said  he,  and  he  himself  had  not 
seen  snow  there  for  five  years.  Then 
he  settled  the  three  travellers  in  the 
great  roomy  touring  car  covered  with 
a  Cape-cart  hood,  wrapped  them  up 
in  many  rugs  and  started. 

After  a  few  moments,  the  huddling 

together  of  their  bodies  —  for,  the 

Professor  being  a  spare  man,  there 

was  room  for  them  all  on  the  back 

[32] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

seat  —  the  pile  of  rugs,  the  service- 
able and  all  but  air-tight  hood,  in- 
duced a  pleasant  warmth  and  a 
pleasant  drowsiness.  Where  they 
were  being  driven  they  knew  not. 
The  perfectly  upholstered  seat  eased 
their  limbs,  the  easy  swinging  motion 
of  the  car  soothed  their  spirits.  They 
felt  that  already  they  had  reached 
the  luxuriously  appointed  home 
which,  after  all,  they  knew  awaited 
them.  McCurdie  no  longer  railed. 
Professor  Biggleswade  forgot  the 
dangers  of  bronchitis,  and  Lord 
Doyne  twisted  the  stump  of  a 
black  cigar  between  his  lips  with- 
out any  desire  to  relight  it.  A  tiny 
electric  lamp  inside  the  hood  made 
the  darkness  of  the  world  to  right 
and  left  and  in  front  of  the  talc 
windows  still  darker.  McCurdie  and 
Biggleswade  fell  into  a  doze.  Lord 
Doyne  chewed  the  end  of  his  cigar. 
[33] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

The  car  sped  on  through  an  unseen 
wilderness. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  horrid  jolt 
and  a  lurch  and  a  leap  and  a  rebound, 
and  then  the  car  stood  still,  quiver- 
ing like  a  ship  that  has  been  struck 
by  a  heavy  sea.  The  three  men 
were  pitched  and  tossed  and  thrown 
sprawling  over  one  another  onto  the 
bottom  of  the  car.  Biggleswade 
screamed.  McCurdie  cursed.  Doyne 
scrambled  from  the  confusion  of  rugs 
and  limbs  and,  tearing  open  the  side 
of  the  Cape-cart  hood,  jumped  out. 
The  chauffeur  had  also  just  leaped 
from  his  seat.  It  was  pitch  dark 
save  for  the  great  shaft  of  light  down 
the  snowy  road  cast  by  the  acetyl- 
ene lamps.  The  snow  had  ceased 
falling. 

*' What's  gone  wrong?" 

"It  sounds  like  the  axle,"  said  the 
chauffeur  ruefully. 
[34] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

He  unshipped  a  lamp  and  exam- 
ined the  car,  which  had  wedged 
itself  against  a  great  drift  of 
snow  on  the  off  side.  Meanwhile 
McCurdie  and  Biggleswade  had 
alighted. 

"Yes,  it's  the  axle,"  said  the  chauf- 
feur. 

"Then  we're  done,"  remarked 
Doyne 

"I'm  afraid  so,  my  lord." 

"What's  the  matter.''  Can't  we 
get  on?"  asked  Biggleswade  in  his 
querulous  voice. 

McCurdie  laughed.  "How  can  we 
get  on  with  a  broken  axle?  The 
thing's  as  useless  as  a  man  with  a 
broken  back.  Gad,  I  was  right.  I 
said  it  was  going  to  be  an  infernal 
journey." 

The  little  Professor  wrung  his 
hands.  "But  what's  to  be  done?" 
he  cried. 

[35] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

"Tramp  it,"  said  Lord  Doyne, 
lighting  a  fresh  cigar. 

"It's  ten  miles,"  said  the  chauf- 
feur. 

"It  would  be  the  death  of  me,"  the 
Professor  wailed. 

"I  utterly  refuse  to  walk  ten  miles 
through  a  Polar  waste  with  a  gouty 
foot,"  McCurdie  declared  wrath- 
fully. 

The  chauffeur  offered  a  solution 
of  the  difficulty.  He  would  set  out 
alone  for  Foullis  Castle  —  five  miles 
farther  on  was  an  inn  where  he  could 
obtain  a  horse  and  trap  —  and  would 
return  for  the  three  gentlemen  with 
another  car.  In  the  meanwhile  they 
could  take  shelter  in  a  little  house 
which  they  had  just  passed,  some 
half  mile  up  the  road.  This  was 
agreed  to.  The  chauffeur  went  on 
cheerily  enough  with  a  lamp,  and  the 
three  travellers  with  another  lamp 
[36] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

started  off  in  the  opposite  direction. 
As  far  as  they  could  see  they  were 
in  a  long,  desolate  valley,  a  sort  of 
No  Man's  Land,  deathly  silent.  The 
eastern  sky  had  cleared  somewhat, 
and  they  faced  a  loose  rack  through 
which  one  pale  star  was  dimly  visible. 


[37] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

"T'Ma  man  of  science,"  said  Mc- 
-■■  Curdie  as  they  trudged  through 
the  snow,  "and  I  dismiss  the  super- 
natural as  contrary  to  reason;  but 
I  have  Highland  blood  in  my  veins 
that  plays  me  exasperating  tricks. 
My  reason  tells  me  that  this  place  is 
only  a  commonplace  moor,  yet  it 
seems  like  a  Valley  of  Bones  haunted 
by  malignant  spirits  who  have  lured 
us  here  to  our  destruction.  There's 
something  guiding  us  now.  It's  just 
uncanny." 

*'  Why  on  earth  did  we  ever  come?  " 
croaked  Biggleswade. 

Lord  Doyne  answered:  "The 
Koran  says,  *  Nothing  can  befall  us 
but  what  God  hath  destined  for  us.' 
So  why  worry  .^" 

"Because  I'm  not  a  Mohamme- 
dan," retorted  Biggleswade. 

"  You  might  be  worse,"  said  Doyne. 
[38] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

Presently  the  dim  outline  of  the 
little  house  grew  perceptible.  A 
faint  light  shone  from  the  window. 
It  stood  unfenced  by  any  kind  of 
hedge  or  railing  a  few  feet  away  from 
the  road  in  a  little  hollow  beneath 
some  rising  ground.  As  far  as  they 
could  discern  in  the  darkness  when 
they  drew  near,  the  house  was  a 
mean,  dilapidated  hovel.  A  gutter- 
ing candle  stood  on  the  inner  sill  of 
the  small  window  and  afforded  a 
vague  view  into  a  mean  interior. 
Doyne  held  up  the  lamp  so  that  its 
rays  fell  full  on  the  door.  As  he  did 
so,  an  exclamation  broke  from  his 
lips  and  he  hurried  forward,  followed 
by  the  others.  A  man's  body  lay 
huddled  together  on  the  snow  by  the 
threshold.  He  was  dressed  like  a 
peasant,  in  old  corduroy  trousers 
and  rough  coat,  and  a  handkerchief 
was  knotted  round  his  neck.  In  his 
[39] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

hand  he  grasped  the  neck  of  a  broken 
bottle.  Doyne  set  the  lamp  on  the 
ground  and  the  three  bent  down  to- 
gether over  the  man.  Close  by  tlie 
neck  lay  the  rest  of  the  broken 
bottle,  whose  contents  had  evidently 
run  out  into  the  snow. 

"Drunk.'*"  asked  Biggleswade. 

Doyne  felt  the  man  and  laid  his 
hand  on  his  heart. 

"No,"  said  he,  "dead." 

McCurdie  leaped  to  his  full  height. 
"I  told  you  the  place  was  uncanny!" 
he  cried.  "It's  fey."  Then  he  ham- 
mered wildly  at  the  door. 

There  was  no  response.  He  ham- 
mered again  till  it  rattled.  This 
time  a  faint  prolonged  sound  like 
the  wailing  of  a  strange  sea-creature 
was  heard  from  within  the  house. 
McCurdie  turned  round,  his  teeth 
chattering. 

"Did  ye  hear  that,  Doyne.?" 
[40] 


'I    TOLD    you    THE    PLACE    WAS    UNCANNY." 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

"Perhaps  it's  a  dog,"  said  the 
Professor. 

Lord  Doyne,  the  man  of  action, 
pushed  them  aside  and  tried  the  door- 
handle. It  yielded,  the  door  stood 
open,  and  the  gust  of  cold  wind 
entering  the  house  extinguished  the 
candle  within.  They  entered  and 
found  themselves  in  a  miserable 
stone-paved  kitchen,  furnished  with 
poverty-stricken  meagreness  —  a 
wooden  chair  or  two,  a  dirty  table, 
some  broken  crockery,  old  cooking 
utensils,  a  fly-blown  missionary  so- 
ciety almanac,  and  a  fireless  grate. 
Doyne  set  the  lamp  on  the  table. 

"We  must  bring  him  in,"  said  he. 

They  returned  to  the  threshold, 
and  as  they  were  bending  over  to  grip 
the  dead  man  the  same  sound  filled 
the  air,  but  this  time  louder,  more 
intense,  a  cry  of  great  agony.  The 
sweat  dripped  from  McCurdie's  fore- 
[41] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

head.  They  hfted  the  dead  man  and 
brought  him  into  the  room,  and  after 
laying  him  on  a  dirty  strip  of  carpet 
they  did  their  best  to  straighten 
the  stiff  Hmbs.  Biggleswade  put  on 
the  table  a  bundle  which  he  had 
picked  up  outside.  It  contained  some 
poor  provisions  —  a  loaf,  a  piece  of 
fat  bacon,  and  a  paper  of  tea.  As 
far  as  they  could  guess  (and  as  they 
learned  later  they  guessed  rightly) 
the  man  was  the  master  of  the  house, 
who,  coming  home  blind  drunk  from 
some  distant  inn,  had  fallen  at  his 
own  threshold  and  got  frozen  to 
death.  As  they  could  not  unclasp 
his  fingers  from  the  broken  bottle- 
neck they  had  to  let  him  clutch  it  as 
a  dead  warrior  clutches  the  hilt  of 
his  broken  sword. 

Then  suddenly  the  whole  place  was 
rent  with   another  and  yet  another 
long,  soul-piercing  moan  of  anguish. 
[42] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

"There's  a  second  room,"  said 
Doyne,  pointing  to  a  door.  "The 
sound  comes  from  there." 

He  opened  the  door,  peeped  in, 
and  then,  returning  for  the  lamp, 
disappeared,  leaving  McCurdie  and 
Biggleswade  in  the  pitch  darkness, 
with  the  dead  man  on  the  floor. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  give  me  a 
drop  of  whiskey,"  said  the  Professor, 
"or  I  shall  faint." 

Presently  the  door  opened  and 
Lord  Doyne  appeared  in  the  shaft 
of  light.  He  beckoned  to  his  com- 
panions. 

"It  is  a  woman  in  childbirth,"  he 
said  in  his  even,  tired  voice.  "We 
must  aid  her.  She  appears  uncon- 
scious. Does  either  of  you  know 
anything  about  such  things.^^" 

They  shook  their  heads,  and  the 
three  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay. 
Masters  of  knowledge  that  had  won 
[43] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

them  world-wide  fame  and  honour, 
they  stood  helpless,  abashed  before 
this,  the  commonest  phenomenon  of 
nature. 

"My  wife  had  no  child,"  said  Mc- 
Curdie. 

"I've  avoided  women  all  my  life," 
said  Biggleswade. 

"And  I've  been  too  busy  to  think 
of  them.  God  forgive  me,"  said 
Doyne. 


[44 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

'T^HE  history  of  the  next  two  hours 
was  one  that  none  of  the  three 
men  ever  cared  to  touch  upon.  They 
did  things  bhndly,  instinctively,  as 
men  do  when  they  come  face  to  face 
with  the  elemental.  A  fire  was  made, 
they  knew  not  how,  water  drawn  they 
knew  not  whence,  and  a  kettle  boiled. 
Doyne  accustomed  to  command,  di- 
rected. The  others  obeyed.  At  his 
suggestion  they  hastened  to  the 
wreck  of  the  car  and  came  staggering 
back  beneath  rugs  and  travelling  bags 
which  could  supply  clean  linen  and 
needful  things,  for  amid  the  poverty 
of  the  house  they  could  find  nothing 
fit  for  human  touch  or  use.  Early 
they  saw  that  the  woman's  strength 
was  failing,  and  that  she  could  not 
live.  And  there,  in  that  nameless 
hovel,  with  death  on  the  hearth- 
stone and  death  and  life  hovering 
[45] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

over  the  pitiful  bed,  the  three  great 
men  went  through  the  pain  and  the 
horror  and  squalor  of  birth,  and  they 
knew  that  they  had  never  yet  stood 
before  so  great  a  mystery. 

With  the  first  wail  of  the  newly 
born  infant  a  last  convulsive  shudder 
passed  through  the  frame  of  the  un- 
conscious mother.  Then  three  or 
four  short  gasps  for  breath,  and  the 
spirit  passed  away.  She  was  dead. 
Professor  Biggleswade  threw  a  corner 
of  the  sheet  over  her  face,  for  he 
could  not  bear  to  see  it. 

They  washed  and  dried  the  child 
as  any  crone  of  a  midwife  would 
have  done,  and  dipped  a  small 
sponge  which  had  always  remained 
unused  in  a  cut-glass  bottle  in 
Doyne's  dressing-bag  in  the  hot  milk 
and  water  of  Biggleswade's  thermos 
bottle,  and  put  it  to  his  lips;  and  then 
they  wrapped  him  up  warm  in  some 
[46] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

of  their  own  woollen  undergarments, 
and  took  him  into  the  kitchen  and 
placed  him  on  a  bed  made  of  their 
fur  coats  in  front  of  the  fire.  As  the 
last  piece  of  fuel  was  exhausted  they 
took  one  of  the  wooden  chairs  and 
broke  it  up  and  cast  it  into  the 
blaze.  And  then  they  raised  the 
dead  man  from  the  strip  of  carpet 
and  carried  him  into  the  bedroom 
and  laid  him  reverently  by  the  side 
of  his  dead  wife,  after  which  they  left 
the  dead  in  darkness  and  returned  to 
the  living.  And  the  three  grave  men 
stood  over  the  w^isp  of  flesh  that  had 
been  born  a  male  into  the  world. 
Then,  their  task  being  accomplished, 
reaction  came,  and  even  Doyne,  who 
had  seen  death  in  many  lands,  turned 
faint.  But  the  others,  losing  control 
of  their  nerves,  shook  like  men 
stricken  with  palsy. 

Suddenly    McCurdie    cried    in    a 
[47] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

high  pitched  voice,  "My  God! 
Don't  you  feel  it?"  and  clutched 
Doyne  by  the  arm.  An  expression  of 
terror  appeared  on  his  iron  features. 
"There!     It's  here  with  us." 

Little  Professor  Biggleswade  sat  on 
a  corner  of  the  table  and  wiped  his 
forehead. 

"I  heard  it.  I  felt  it.  It  was  like 
the  beating  of  wings." 

"It's  the  fourth  time,"  said  Mc- 
Curdie.  "The  first  time  was  just 
before  I  accepted  the  Deverills'  in- 
vitation. The  second  in  the  railway 
carriage  this  afternoon.  The  third 
on  the  way  here.    This  is  the  fourth." 

Biggleswade  plucked  nervously 
at  the  fringe  of  whisker  under  his 
jaws  and  said  faintly,  "  It's  the  fourth 
time  up  to  now.  I  thought  it  was 
fancy." 

"I  have  felt  it,  too,"  said  Doyne. 
"It  is  the  Angel  of  Death."  And  he 
[48] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

pointed  to  the  room  where  the  dead 
man  and  woman  lay. 

"For  God's  sake  let  us  get  away 
from  this,"  cried  Biggleswade. 

"And  leave  the  child  to  die,  like 
the  others?"  said  Doyne. 

"We  must  see  it  through,"  said 
McCurdie. 


[49 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

A  SILENCE  fell  upon  them  as 
-^"^  they  sat  round  in  the  blaze 
with  the  new-born  babe  wrapped  in 
its  odd  swaddling  clothes  asleep  on 
the  pile  of  fur  coats,  and  it  lasted 
until  Sir  Angus  McCurdie  looked  at 
his  watch. 

"Good  Lord,"  said  he,  "it's 
twelve  o'clock." 

"Christmas  morning,"  said  Big- 
gleswade. 

"A  strange  Christmas,"  mused 
Doyne. 

McCurdie  put  up  his  hand.  "There 
it  is  again!  The  beating  of  wings." 
And  they  listened  like  men  spell- 
bound. McCurdie  kept  his  hand 
uplifted,  and  gazed  over  their  heads 
at  the  wall,  and  his  gaze  was  that  of 
a  man  in  a  trance,  and  he  spoke: 

"Unto  us  a  child  is  born,  unto  us 
a  son  is  given  — " 
[50] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

Doyne  sprang  from  his  chair, 
which  fell  behind  him  with  a 
crash. 

"Man  —  what  the  devil  are  you 
saying?  " 

Then  McCurdie  rose  and  met 
Biggleswade's  eyes  staring  at  him 
through  the  great  round  spectacles, 
and  Biggleswade  turned  and  met  the 
eyes  of  Doyne.  A  pulsation  like  the 
beating  of  wings  stirred  the  air. 

The  three  wise  men  shivered 
with  a  queer  exaltation.  Something 
strange,  mystical,  dynamic  had  hap- 
pened. It  was  as  if  scales  had  fallen 
from  their  eyes  and  they  saw  with 
a  new  vision.  They  stood  together 
humbly,  divested  of  all  their  great- 
ness, touching  one  another  in  the 
instinctive  fashion  of  children,  as  if 
seeking  mutual  protection,  and  they 
looked,  with  one  accord,  irresistibly 
compelled,  at  the  child. 
[51] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

At  last  McCurdie  unbent  his  black 
brows  and  said  hoarsely: 

"It  was  not  the  Angel  of  Death, 
Doyne,  but  another  Messenger  that 
drew  us  here." 

The  tiredness  seemed  to  pass 
away  from  the  great  administrator's 
face,  and  he  nodded  his  head  with 
the  calm  of  a  man  who  has  come 
to  the  quiet  heart  of  a  perplexing 
mystery. 

"It's  true,"  he  murmured.  "Unto 
us  a  child  is  born,  unto  us  a  son  is 
given.     Unto  the  three  of  us." 

Biggleswade  took  off  his  great 
round  spectacles  and  wiped  them. 

"Gaspar,  Melchior,  Balthazar. 
But  where  are  the  gold,  frankincense 
and  myrrh?" 

"In  our  hearts,  man,"  said  Mc- 
Curdie. 

The  babe  cried  and  stretched  its 

tiny  limbs. 

[52] 


Instinctively  they  all  knelt  down. 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

Instinctively  they  all  knelt  down 
together  to  discover,  if  possible,  and 
administer  ignorantly  to,  its  wants. 
The  scene  had  the  appearance  of  an 
adoration. 


53] 


A    CHRISTMAS    MYSTERY 

nPHEN  these  three  wise,  lonely, 
childless  men  who,  in  further- 
ance of  their  own  greatness,  had  cut 
themselves  adrift  from  the  sweet  and 
simple  things  of  life  and  from  the 
kindly  ways  of  their  brethren,  and 
had  grown  old  in  unhappy  and 
profitless  wisdom,  knew  that  an  in- 
scrutable Providence  had  led  them, 
as  it  had  led  three  Wise  Men  of  old, 
on  a  Christmas  morning  long  ago, 
to  a  nativity  which  should  give  them 
a  new  wisdom,  a  new  link  with  hu- 
manity, a  new  spiritual  outlook,  a 
new  hope. 

And,  when  their  watch  was  ended, 
they  wrapped  up  the  babe  with  pre- 
cious care,  and  carried  him  with 
them,  an  inalienable  joy  and  pos- 
session, into  the  great  world. 

[54] 


Carried  with   them   an  inalienable  joy 

AND  possession  INTO  THE  GREAT  WORLD. 


DATE  DUE 

GAYLORD 

PHINTEDINU   S.A. 

AA  000  599  930  5 


i7ijmIiiii?^ii^^nfliyE'^fiP^.V',^,Mp,v,^.  " 


3  1210  01284  9855 


